He stood just inside the flap staring at her, clearly trying to intimidate her with that brooding, heavy glare he’d perfected. He’d always been intense, but that intensity had taken on a harsh edge in the intervening years. She shivered. Ascaryedge.
As he was dressed head to toe in black leather and steel, and had what must be every deadly looking weapon known to man strapped to him, the glare wasn’t altogether ineffective. But suspecting that he’d taken so long to come to her because he knew how anxious she would be—exacting a punishment of sorts—she lifted her chin and glared right back at him.
His mouth tightened, and most of the impressive number of muscles in his body tightened. Good gracious! What must his chest and arms look like now?
She felt a flutter low in her belly and the familiar flood of heat. It was probably best not to think about that.
He took a few steps toward her. He was obviously ready for battle, and she had no intention of disappointing him.
“Whatever it is you feel you have to say, say it,” she said with an indifferent wave of her hand.
His eyes turned positively predatory. “Now what makes you say that, Margaret? Could it be that I specifically told you not to leave the tent, and yet I find you gallivanting around camp with MacGowan?”
The way he practically spat the other man’s name gave her an inkling of why he was so furious.
“I wasn’t gallivanting,” she clarified. “I was merely ensuring that Thom had recovered from his injuries after coming to my aid the other day. I hope you don’t mind, but I used some of the coin you left me to purchase a new blade for him.”
“You didwhat?”
She winced at the reverberation in her ears. “I will pay you back.”
“I don’t want your damned money! And from what I hear, he can bloody well make his own blades. You shouldn’t be buying things forThomor any other man.”
She lifted her brow, fighting the smile at the way he’d said Thom. “Why not?”
“It isn’t right, damn it.”
She couldn’t resist tweaking him just a little. Hehadmade her wait for hours. “You have no cause to be jealous of him.”
She didn’t think it possible that blue eyes could turn so black. “I’m not jealous of him!” he snarled.
“You aren’t? Oh that’s good. Although it would be understandable it you were. He really is quite handsome. That dark hair with those blue eyes really is a stunning combination.” She appeared to ponder that while he struggled not to explode. “I’ve always liked tall men.” She raised her hand an inch or two over his head as if gauging. “He must be at least four inches over six feet, don’t you think?”
When he made a low growl in his throat and took another step toward her, Margaret decided she’d pressed him far enough. He looked like he was contemplating strangling her or tossing her back onto that bed. No matter how much she wanted the latter—and the thrill racing along her skin told her she wanted it very much—she wasn’t ready for it. Passion had a way of confusing things. She’d learned that the first time around.
“Did Bruce agree to your plan?” she asked, clearly surprising him by the swift change of subject. “Is that why you are dressed for battle?”
The suddenly blank look on his face answered her question even if he did not. Though she could not expect him to trust her, her heart still twisted.
She scanned his hardened features for any sign of an opening. “Just tell me, is it dangerous?’
Still he didn’t say anything, and her heart twisted again.
“Of course it’s dangerous,” she said, answering her own question. “How can it not be?” She was torn: wanting her son free but not wanting Eoin to be hurt in the process. She renewed her plea. “Won’t you let me at least try first—”
“Nay. We’ve been through this before. I’ll not risk you and the lad. This is what I do, Margaret. Let me do my job.”
She looked up at him and felt a yearning so strong it stole her breath. Tears welled in her eyes. She wasn’t sure what they were for. Fear? Longing? The life they’d lost or the love that they’d once shared?
He seemed to want to say something, but instead bowed his head and turned to leave.
“Wait,” she said, running after him. She reached him as he pulled aside the flap.
“What is it?”
“This.” And without hesitating, she stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. It was chaste and brief, but long enough to stir memories. She’d forgotten the surprising softness, the subtle taste of spice, and the way her heart jumped at the contact. The way her wholebodyjumped.
It took everything she had to draw back. But when she did, she could see that she’d surprised him.
